It’s been a long time now.
Some nights ago, I realized I miss those conversations – those that, for the first time, completely engrossed me for entire nights, so much that I stayed up with you to watch the dawn, those that taught me, after a long time, that there exist people out there who are as afraid of the shallow waters as I am, those that introduced me, for the second time, to the concept of a ‘forever’ – with you.

‘Why you?’ I wondered.

And I muffled the voice in my head, and I took a step back – afraid.

Some nights ago, I dreamed of you – in a world far away from this one – where home is unrestrained happiness, not the haunting melancholia of this planet, where people notice the softer sounds – the buzz of the bee, the rustle of the leaves, the chirps of the birds returning to their nests, the music of the oceans, the symphonies of true silence, and the rhythm of hearts beating together in a continuous pulse of life, unlike the dull thuds on this world. I dreamed of you – you were mine.

‘Why you?’ I wondered.

And I gagged the voice in my head, and took another step back – phobic.

Some nights ago, I woke up sweating in the middle of the night, clutching the phone against the heat of a burning fever and a severe headache, hoping to cling on to the bits and pieces that you had left of yourself – too afraid to text first, and still yearning for one last honest conversation, like an addict for the drug your mere existence had once filled my blood with. And I was surprised to find that I had fallen asleep re-reading a chat on Facebook Messenger – your patient replies to all my questions, your mild assurances to all my doubts. What surprised me even more was the fact that Messenger showed its three dancing bubbles, indicating that you were typing yet again – one more time, after all this time.

Then, all of a sudden, they disappeared. I swear I had stared at them for so long that I had their sizes, their movements, the rises and the falls memorized. Tabula rasa. Nothing received. Typing online had pushed one more thought down the cliffs of hesitation. Those three bubbles are the vaguest bits of information that anyone could ever provide. They are hopeless ‘almosts’ – almost written, almost sent, almost received, almost conveyed – but just not yet.

I smiled. The bubbles could be made of acid and burst all over my seeds of hope, and I would still make sure the smile stayed glued to my face.

‘Why you?’ I wondered.

And I turned and ran back.

I know I shouldn’t have, but I did. Because so did you.

I couldn’t let the storm within me rage on when I knew you were already taming yours. I needed a dam too.
I was falling. But love usually ends in heartbreak, and heartbreak for me would mean sunken eyes, wild hair, ink-stained fingers and bleeding veins.

I wish I could be a little more careful in love, a little more restrained, a little less consuming, a little less passionate… But unfortunately, I’m not. I’m a reckless mess. I’m a hopeful romantic.

And hopeful romantics may be worse than hopeless ones. Hope can hunt sometimes. And no one likes to be the prey.

So, I usually turn and run back from love.

I’m sorry. I sealed my heart off the first time it was broken. And you, with all your own doubts and phobias of responsibility and commitment, will not be able to break the seal.

I’m sorry. I wish I was stronger and a little less scarred from love. I wish you were stronger and a little less scared of love. And I hope that someday, you will be – for someone else. And I’ll still longingly wish it was for me. I’ll write you a love-song that day; because the day you learn to love someone fearlessly, fiercely, will be the day you truly deserve a love-song. I’ll shed a tear or two – for she could teach you something that I couldn’t, even though I craved to. And perhaps that day, I’ll move on.

Till then, know that I love you. And know that I’ll never be able to tell you so.

I’m sorry.

I take your leave.

And I wave you goodbye.

And I wave goodbye to a story that we never started, just so it could never end.